To D, When It Is Cold Outside

In the night I am an oven;
I preheat until I bake.
And in the morning,
when your skin is crispy,
I know it’s time to eat.

I Am Virginia. I Am Validated.

Yes, I have been going through some unfortunate issues lately. They always come along in a big bundle like property rights. It is good, then, that things have settled in my favor, as they do. My only complaint is this that every time, every single time, I have gotten the same response from friends and enemies alike. I have been told that I am a good person, and that good people always end up...well...good. What is this Good? I am not good. I am not of the Discovery Health Channel minions who can find beauty and joy even after suffering a horribly disfiguring disease. I cannot adopt a child of my own race, let alone of another, and love him as I do my own. I will laugh at you and talk behind your back. Regardless of whether I am right or wrong, I will tailor my arguments just so in order to win them by the widest margin possible. I am often sad, angry, superior, aloof. I pick my nose and flick it out the window, preferably at somebody. To be sure, I am not bad either. Still, I do not know this Good. And I am not so sure I would like it if I did.

On My Way Back Home

The path from our nation's capital is riddled with stops. Not the typical ones, though, as we've tried to avoid those, but the ones that tell us about Joe Sweeney's banjo, Walton's Mountain and the Virginia Prison Farm recordings of 1936. The real stuff. Sure there's Appomattox and the Blue Ridge Parkway, whose suicidal turkeys cause much laughter, yet there's also the Carter Fold off The Crooked Road. There's Jonesborough Tennessee, the Lost Sea and McCaysville Georgia. There's the downtowns of Asheville North Carolina; Richmond, Bristol and Lynchburg Virginia; Auburn, Montgomery and Monroeville Alabama. There's great food and views in Rabun County Georgia with nary a squealing pig or a dueling banjo in sight. There's mountains and lakes and creeks and trees and really nice people.

There's so much more.

Just get off the damn interstate.

Stuff I Didn't Write

See the dwarves and see the giants. Which one would you choose to be?

I'm freezing like a 30 Century Man. Again with the Disney reference, but he is safe and buried somewhere in California. NOT, as is commonly rumored, in a freezer - with his feet in the air and his head on the ground. Ewww...or is it Oooo?

Don't believe all that I say. Hell, I don't believe all that I say.

The termite eats the windowsill. And I'm determined to believe that if I lift the shade there will be more. I envision the Koi pond at that Chinese restaurant in Orlando. Nasty, slimey fish. I see the termites, but I don't see that thing hovering out of the corner of my eye. It is not there. IT IS NOT THERE. The wine will help me believe it. It'll slow me down, like the night I did 'shrooms and ate the tiny Kit Kat bar in six hours. You know what I'm talking about, little sister.

There are people I dislike in this world. You know who you are.

There are people I love. Like My Bloody Valentine. Loveless is eleven tracks of pure perfection (sorry if I'm repeating myself TOTW). Buy it if you know what's good for you. I'm listening to it now and it makes me want to...do things...with certain people. Again, you know who you are.

I laugh like a machine gun.

This is how I feel at this moment.

If I walk down this hallway tonight it's too quiet, so I pad through the dark and call you on the phone. Push your old numbers and let your old house ring till I wake your ghost. I think last night you were driving circles around me.

There is dirt on your pants. Who made you crawl?

Crap. I'm not supposed to be saying all of this. Honestly, though, I'm amazed I can type at all. Oh well. Tell me what the saddest song in the world is.

About A Boy and A Girl

I can slice these grapes
tenderly, in two, like the
way you sliced my heart.

Wide Awake

This morning I woke up and he was still dead. Damn. Just when I get used to the idea I have to fall asleep and start all over again the next day. And the next. And the next.

Then one day I'll wake up not thinking about him much. Then one day I'll wake up not thinking about him at all.

Really I'm already not thinking about him much. It has been so long, in fact, that I'm beginning to wonder if he was real or just someone I made up. That, I think, makes me saddest of all. A real deep-down-achy sort of sad. One that comes very, very close to touching the place in us all where we question the point of things. Because I used to not be able to live without him, yet now I'm doing just fine.

Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow

I believe people still want to live like human beings. But there are a lot of things that could be done. I'm not against the automobile, but I just feel that you can design so that the automobile is there but still put people back as pedestrians again. I'd love to work on a project like that.
-Walter Elias Disney

Me too, Mr. Disney. Me too.

The Cuyahoga Falls Business Association Ball

As Mayoress Reputa (the Beauta) makes out the list for the upcoming Cuyahoga Falls Business Association Ball she wonders if she’s the only rational person in this town. In her opinion, there is not one denizen within a ten-mile radius born with all the right chemicals. She has always felt like this is one of those places inhabited by strange and intriguing characters one always reads about in books. But of course she knows that this place and these people are as real as the setting sun. Or even God, Himself.

Althaea Officinalis

Marshmallow candy was not invented in Cuyahoga Falls. It was also not, as insisted upon in a popular cruise along the Fowl River, invented in Mobile. I pant undeniably at the beauty of the marshmallow. Why do I love it so? Ah yes, it’s because they are good to me. They fill me with sticky sweetness.

What can I say to conjure up unusual facts and trivia? What is a usual minded person and why must he always exist among the red rose bushes? Can man truly succeed in the plethora of mindless activities he is forced to perform day after day? Is Lawrence Welk really dead? I had a cow once, has it been eaten?

In a dark corner of a dark restaurant sits the man who knows you well. He looks like everyone you’ve ever known. Looking the other way when it happened is the woman who is all things to all people. When they get together things are mentally devoured until only the skeletons of what once was remain.

Tippy Solvidol Solves It All

Armand Van Helden makes me feel like a whore. Fuck yeah!

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

When I look into your eyes,
I could love you to forever.

No Escape

Stopped at a light on my way to the grocery, I flip on the stereo to whatever CD is in current rotation. After only a few minutes, though, an overwhelming urge to switch to the radio comes over me. It's an odd urge. Normally I don't listen to the radio, seeing as how most of it is crap. But today I must. My soul requires it.

I click on the presets, but I get no satisfaction. What am I looking for? I click on the auto-seek button. It goes through the local stations, stopping for a moment on each one. Do you like this? No? Okay... Do you like this? No? Okay...

Then, after a while, I hear it. It is the Sirens' call. It is Escape (The Piña Colada Song). My soul is soothed.

The Piña Colada Song has long played a role in my life. A friend and I used it for many years in a series of psychological experiments on my sister. We'd find it - no matter how well hidden among her CDs - on a compilation disc. (Thankfully, I've forgotten which one.) We'd stick it in the stereo, press endless repeat and wait. Her reaction would range from disgust to humor, depending on her mood. There was one time, however, when the situation got violent.

My sister, eight months pregnant with her first child and very hormonal, was asleep on a chair. Beads of sweat dripped down her face from the lack of air-conditioning on this very hot July day. Gristle from the large steak she had just eaten lingered on the corner of her gaping mouth. We should have known. We should have... We put the CD in the stereo and out came the first fateful notes of The Piña Colada Song.

I've blocked out much of that day, but every now and then I'll wake up screaming from a nightmare of blood, tears and arrests. Needless to say, that was the last time we ever did it.

Today I'm not screaming. I'm realizing that I've never actually listened to the words. So here, at the light, on my way to the grocery, I finally do.

What a stupid song.

The guy was "tired" of his "lady" (and really, who says that?), so he starts reading the personals as she's asleep right next to him. Whatever. Then he responds to one. No surprise. Then they meet, and guess what? It's his lady! Yay! They laugh. They drink (Piña Coladas, no doubt). They escape.

I don't, however. The Piña Colada Song is in my head and it won't go away. I remember now why I should never heed the Sirens' call. I am drowning in a swirling blender of 3 oz light rum, 3 tbsp coconut milk, 3 tbsp crushed pineapples and ice. I'm sorry, sweet sister, for all those years. Please, please, just pour me into a Collins glass and let me die. And thank drinksmixer.com for the recipe. Thank you.

I Could Play With My Words

What is this noxious odor called New Orleans? The streetcars and their sparks flying about ready to strike an unsuspecting fool such as myself... Or perhaps the stench of beer from too many fuckin' frat parties on one block? A plastic bag from a cab.

A red truck, car, van, whatever the hell kind of vehicle that is, sits idling on my front lawn. Yet it's not my front lawn. It is, in fact, an amazing replica of an English garden in the Spring.

Coffee and the Single Girl

Just today I was sitting at a café in Hollywood. I stared at the traffic while sipping my black coffee when, suddenly, Mr. Joaquin Phoenix came into my line of sight.

We had met a few months before at a poetry slam in Albuquerque. I was trying to lay low, but a friend insisted I get up on stage. Not surprisingly, the impromptu performance of my environmental impact study of a new cell tower in the historic neighborhood of Hyder Park made the crowd go wild. Joaquin was there, and he noticed me. We talked. We laughed. We drove around and beat up treasure hunters at a nearby archaeological dig. Finally, we parted. Though we spoke on the phone, I didn't see him again until now.

"I missed you the other night."

"The other night?"

"At Elton John's party."

"Ah. It completely slipped by me."

Mr. Elton John (excuse me, Sir) had thrown a post-Oscar bash/AIDS fundraising event at some famous Los Angeles eatery. Naturally, I had been invited. But I didn't go. I couldn't. And I didn't have the heart to tell Joaquin - sensitive that he is - that I had recently decided to protest sprawl. Therefore, I would not attend any function I couldn't get to by public transportation. Now I know that in the scheme of causes AIDS probably ranks higher than sprawl, but a girl's got to pick her battles.

Anyway.

Joaquin sat and grabbed my hands in his. (I'll admit that I went quite tingly when he did this.) He tried staring into my eyes, but, well, I'm just not into that. Very disconcerting. I stared at my coffee and lost all brain activity.

"I wanted to see you again. You know, when they announced my name at the Oscars I looked right into the camera and said 'I Love You.' That was for you. Did you see it? Why won't you look at me?"

"Yes."

"What? Is there a problem? Why won't you look at me? Why are you making that face?"

"Yes, you, uh, no problems."

"I don't understand. You have such a way with words. The Carver Court Housing Project MOA Implementation brought such tears to my eyes that I couldn't help but drive to it a number of times to stare at its beauty. The cops were called on me twice. M. Night is turning it into a film."

"Just stop staring at me, please. I don't like it."

"Oh."

So he looked away, thankfully, and I came back to reality. I remembered that report - a survey I did in Orlando. It was a good one. I squeezed his hands, sincerity oozing from my fingers, and told him it could never be. I kissed him chastely. He bowed his head and sighed. As I walked away I realized that I hadn't finished my coffee. It was damn good coffee, too. Oh well.

U2 as Satan's Minions

Much like Ferris Bueller and Wayne Campbell, there are times when I must break through the fourth dimension to address the audience. And so I step away from the fiction, however briefly, to give you this 8 minute video of truth. Rock On!

Achtung, Baby!

Selwyn: The Barbara Walters Special (A Transcript of the Unedited Interview)

BW = Barbara Walters
VO = Barbara Walters Voice Over
A = Aileen
E = Erica

BW: Selwyn, a word that became a household name for a time in the latter half of the Twentieth century. It conjures mental images of sex, blood, exceptional advances in the field of city planning and, of course, broccoli.

[Image of Selwyn during the 1989 tour, performing "Choppin' Broccoli."]

BW: Even a desperate lawsuit from Dana Carvey and other Saturday Night Live writers over the rights to that now infamous song could not deter Aileen and Erica from their light-speed jump to superstardom. From the bowels of the BBMS, a high school in Cuyahoga Falls, to the pinnacle of success by the age of seventeen - to all appearances a legend in the making. When I spoke with them in the summer of 1989, they were in the early stages of recording a new album, and there was even talk of a starring role in The Silence of the Lambs for Aileen. But one month later, Selwyn had ceased to be. The album was shelved, perhaps permanently. There were no more tours. No more impromptu guest appearances on Letterman. No one even heard from Erica for more than a year. And now, one week after their triumphant comeback concert in Cuyahoga Falls, they have graciously agreed to meet with me here in Cleveland, Ohio. Erica, you are now platinum blonde. Has it changed your personality?

E: Absolutely. And please, call me Dolores.

BW: Dolores?

A: (discreetly, entre nous) Yes, it uh, goes along with the personality change.

BW: Do blondes have more fun, Dolores?

E: It depends on what your idea of fun is, Barbara. And I was joking about calling me Dolores. There you have an excellent example of what fun is for me, making others look foolish. So yes, to answer your question, I'm having a blast.

A: (laughing obnoxiously, ending with a wet belch)

E: For Aileen, fun is being obnoxious and attending rodeo events with Karl Marx impersonators.

A: And whittling. I'm proud to say I've won the Ohio State Whittling Championship three years running.

BW: The last time we talked, you were at the peak of your respective careers. There was Aileen's impending movie deal, the plans for the new album, Erica's romance with rocker, Sting –

E: He's really much more than just a "rocker," Barbara.

BW: Agreed. He's something of a pop icon, an arrogant Machiavellian poet, able to blend subtle jazz hues in with fresh French rap jams, Egyptian melodies and old-fashioned gospel rhythms, topped off with a boasted ability to sustain intercourse for seven hours... But you were a couple in 1989, were you not?

E: I'm afraid I signed a non-disclosure agreement prior to the initial coupling, as I was quite illegally below the age of consent, even for the state of Georgia. But to some extent, yes we were a couple.

BW: After your joint appearance with Sting in Cuyahoga Falls last week, during which Aileen parachuted from a Huey directly into the audience – and may I just take a moment to congratulate both of you on what was surely the finest performance of your career to date, excluding perhaps the "top of the building" concert, which was quite good, considering it had already been done by the Beatles, U2, and even parodied on The Simpsons -

[Metallic click of a switchblade.]

A: Hey! We didn’t come here to be insulted!

E: Aileen, put that thing away...thank you. It's true, Barbara, it had been done before. As you were so kind to point out, even the cartoon image of George Harrison on that Simpsons episode shrugged and said, "It's been done." But I ask you: did the Beatles, or U2, or even Homer Simpson's B-Sharps have the brass onions to shove officers of the law OFF that roof when they tried to break it up? No. Selwyn pioneered that frontier.

BW: And remarkably, you were never convicted of abuse against the badge.

A: Never convicted.

BW: Well, to return to my original line of questioning – having been on-stage with Sting, seeing him for the first time in over ten years, did that rekindle any flames for you, Erica?

E: Absolutely none. The only flames I saw were in the parking lot of the Blossom Music Center, as that charter bus from Akron was doused with kerosene and ignited.

BW: That was truly tragic. I understand there are some victims still in the Burn Unit of the ICU over at Cuyahoga Falls General.

E: I'm afraid I have to disagree with you there, Barbara. It might be tragic for those victims, and their families, and maybe the people who were counting on those victims to show up for work the following Monday, but is it really so tragic for you? Or for me? Had you honestly given it a moment's thought before now? Will you next be asking me what sort of tree I think I should be?

BW: There's no need to be hostile. And besides, you've never answered my question about Sting. No feelings whatsoever, eh?

[Once again, the switchblade is flicked open.]

A: She already told you NO! Damn!

E: Will you give me that thing...thank you. You can't just go waving a knife around when people are watching.

VO: Clearly, the subject of Sting is a sensitive one for both Erica and Aileen.

[Footage of Sting snarling at an intrusive camera man as he and Erica leave Philpott's All-Nite Grocery Pit in Cuyahoga Falls. Mandy Candy Sandy is thrusting a microphone at him.

MCS: Sting, you've been quoted as saying that your "seven hours of Tantric sex" includes dinner and a movie. Are you in the middle of such a date right now?

Sting: Fuck off!

MCS: Can I quote you on that?]

BW: Ladies, are there any plans to blow the dust off the practice session recording of that unfinished album, and possibly share it with the world?

A: No. We're in the middle of recording a brand new album at Pink Confusion Studios, in the Falls. It's scheduled for release later this year. We previewed some of the new material at the show with Sting.

BW: The new material you're referring to would be two songs not previously heard, "Flogging the Carny" and "Intestinal Duress."

E: Yes, we're actually here on location in Cleveland to shoot the video for "Intestinal Duress," for which we've had to import a gigantic pit of ordure.

A: Humongous.

E: The good folks over at Big Dutchman Wholesale Poulterers have been instrumental in turning our dreams of such a pit into a reality.

BW: Overlooking this transparent plug, I shall proceed. Aileen, were you disappointed that Jodie Foster was cast in the lead role for The Silence of the Lambs instead of you?

A: Had you done your research, Barbara, you'd know that I was up for the part of Hannibal Lecter. Jonathan Demme felt the role was made for me. I remained in character for weeks after my audition, but the studio was unconvinced. Whatever. I needed a rest from the tour anyway.

BW: Everyone knows that you were incommunicado for over a year after the breakup of Selwyn, Erica. I realize this is a delicate subject for you. Can you shed a little light on that year for us?

E: The year was 1990. I was obviously devastated over the breakup of the band. The tour had been going so well until that date in Atlanta.

BW: You're referring to the incident –

E: - Yes. Well, I knew right then that we couldn't go on. That all we had accomplished was now bitter ashes in my mouth. There were never any charges brought about, but I just...

[Erica is unable to continue.]

A: I vividly remember Erica coming into my hotel room because I was so angry that she'd intrude –

E: - There were all those young boys she'd picked up earlier in the day. Scott –

A: - Ah, Scott. I heard later the incident left him so scarred that he joined the Navy, but anyway, Erica was in floods of tears and Sting was unconscious in the next room, and there was all the blood –

E: - Blood everywhere -

A: - Just everywhere. And all those magazines with page 53 torn out. It was a definite turning point in the tour, Barbara.

BW: It was, in fact, the ending point for the tour.

VO: The next day, the equipment was packed up and shipped back to Ohio. The crocodiles were returned to the zoo in Paraguay. Sting awoke alone in a cheap motel room, in a puddle of vomit.

[Clip of a 1991 Sting interview from Entertainment Tonight:

Sting: I never found out whose it was...]

VO: And Aileen and Erica boarded separate planes – one going to Los Angeles, the other bound for destinations unknown.

BW: So, Erica, where were you for that entire year?

E: I was backpacking around Eastern Europe.

BW: Sounds dangerous.

E: Oh it was, Barbara, it was. As a matter of fact, during my stay at a disreputable Greek bordello, I was drugged and sold into white slavery in Pakistan.

BW: Pakistani flesh peddlers, the scourge of civilized Eastern society. However did you escape?

E: After about three weeks, some Christian fundamentalists raided our camp as we were making our way to the Afghan border. They 'rescued' me. I spent the next six months trying to escape their prison camp in Wichita Falls, finally gnawing my way out of the particle-board box they kept me in and hitch-hiking my way back home. As you might imagine, being in a culture which was so foreign to me certainly gave me the creative impetus I needed to get back to business.

BW: And you went on to publish The Selwyn Diaries, a collection of your memories from that monumental last world tour. But the book ends the day after the last show in Atlanta. Why is that?

A: Well, that's where the tour ended. Was she supposed to make shit up?

BW: Yes, but readers were left wondering about those last fateful hours.

E: Barbara, to quote Hall and Oates, "some things are better left unsaid."

BW: Another point many people have made about The Selwyn Diaries is how much more complete a picture we would have about that tour if Aileen's portion of the diaries had been included in the publication.

E: Perhaps.

[An uncomfortable pause.]

BW: Okay, do you deliberately try to be controversial?

E: I believe it was the great director François Truffaut who said that one never finishes a film, rather, one must give it up. And I believe this is true in all walks of life.

BW: And by quoting the oft-pretentious Sting just then, you are deliberately trying to be difficult. There I have my answer.

A: I'm not sure how paraphrasing the pretentious intelli-babble of a pop star is 'being difficult,' but if that's how you see it, our work is done.

BW: Aileen, you have been linked romantically with a wide spectrum of men, including Matthew Perry, Billy Corgan, the Montreal Expos and the young donut pseudo-philosopher of Cuyahoga Falls. But we really want to know if there is any truth behind the rumors that Rod Steiger was more than just a friend to you?

A: Well, there were some intimate dinners at Spago, but that's about it. I’d wanted to meet Rod since the day I saw him on late night TV. I thought his Napoleon was excellent. He showed up at a difficult time for me, but we had some problems and now I don’t need him anymore.

VO: Brazil. 1990.

[A montage of Aileen and Rod running naked on the beach, getting drunk at bars and attending high society events in Rio.]

VO: What was rumored to be a storybook romance between Rod Steiger and Aileen quickly turned sour as their differences came to light.

[Footage of Rod looking on incredulously as Aileen crosses a picket line of political prisoners' wives and mothers, over and over again.]

VO: Soon Aileen was slumming, as she called it, alone, picking up boys that were barely of age just to watch them exercise and get into street fights late at night.

A: Rod ended up being something I wasn't expecting. I mean, he was all right at first, but when it turned out that he hated me showing off how much better I was as a rich American, well, that was it. I care for things, but that was crossing the line.

BW: In the year following the breakup, you did a lot of charity work for children.

A: Is that what my PR office is saying?

BW: Yes. Is it all a pack of lies?

A: Hell yeah! The tour took a lot out of me, what with my fish dependency and all. I was tired of giving. I took some time off, wrote a few poems, did a little city planning.

BW: It's true that you transformed the notoriously horrid borough of Brooklyn into a teeming intellectual community, a haven where artists the world over could gather and create beautiful, soaring...things. You were on the cover of Newsweek above the caption "The Most Brilliant City Planner of the Late Twentieth Century." Pretty heady stuff for someone who never even graduated from high school.

A: (to Erica) Give me the knife.

E: No! Just calm down... Take a cleansing breath.

[After a moment.]

BW: My comment has upset you.

A: Whatever! For your information, Barbara, and that of your drooling legions of The View-watching housewives, I have a high school diploma. I also have two college degrees.

BW: But you never attended the graduation at the BBMS. You never returned to that school after the tour ended. According to Erica's account of the tour, she alone reaped the benefit of Sting's tutelage while you spent your free time in the company of filthy and dangerous young men.

A: Sting’s 'tutelage' included bondage, spackle, Slim Whitman and only a little Shakespeare. You'll notice that Erica is the one without a college education, while I bear the scars of his damned spackling knife!

E: Calm down...deep breath...stop picking at that scab, people will see you.

BW: Have you ever thought of what you wanted on your tombstone?

A and E: No.

[Cut to shot of Barbara, alone in an elegantly appointed drawing room.]

BW: Like so many things in their lives, the interview with Aileen and Erica concluded abruptly at that point. They returned to the set of the video, and have declined to return ABC's many subsequent phone calls. Since then, Erica has been repeatedly seen in Sting's company around the country, giving fuel to the rumors that they are back "on" once again. Aileen has reportedly been busy enhancing and completing her half of The Selwyn Diaries, to be released concurrent with the new album this fall. A miniseries adaptation of the Diaries is in negotiation, to feature Vanessa Redgrave and Ice Cube. Selwyn has no plans to continue the tour this summer. The appearance with Sting in Cuyahoga Falls was nothing more than a comeback show, a testing of the waters, so to speak. With the acclaim they received for that one show, there's no doubt that Selwyn will be taking the world by storm during next summer's concert season. I’m Barbara Walters.

(With many thanks to Mopeychick for her part)

Emmett Colquitt, Again

A simple dose of reality was all that Emmett Colquitt needed to get his imagination jump-started, and certainly the thought of Doug penning idiotic ideas and selling them to the masses from a donut shop was a huge jolt. Emmett sat among fellow intellectuals at the weekly meeting of the Cuyahoga Valley Philo Club - of which, he always smugly noted, Doug was not a member - discussing various subjects of interest, when his face suddenly brightened.

"The world is round," he said to himself, "and oranges are round and the face of a clock, and yes, even donuts..." Slowly, the restaurant in which they all sat, The Pearl Tree, turned silent as people began to realize that Emmett was creating. Suddenly, he jumped up on the table to command the attention of all.

"Perhaps the reason why history repeats itself is not because we don't learn, but because everything is round!" Following a collective gasp of approval, everyone applauded. And then someone piped up.

"Everything?"

Emmett, still distracted by his revelation, turned to face Dick Liggin, anal-retentive treasurer of the Philo Club and the scourge of the WNRDSNM Radio morning show.

"Excuse me?"

"What I said was, 'Everything?' Meaning, is everything round, as you say?" asked Dick, absently scratching his buttocks with a fork, to the dismay of his fellow diners.

"I mean, is this fork round?" He held up the offending implement, then pointed it at the four-sided table on which Emmett was standing, speechless. "is this table round? Or would you have us believe that time itself, an intangible concept, is round? That history repeats itself because time is round?"

Emmett stood on the table, which was indeed square, fuming. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to grab the fork out of Dick's hand and spear the fat slob's testicles upon it, to further emphasize the roundness of all things. But he was a generally passive man, and managed to restrain his temper.

"Time? Time is only an intangible concept to those of you who limit your thoughts, Dick..." this last word he pronounced with the slur of an accomplished wit, "perhaps I was too literal, but yes, I will say that time is round. You can see it in the cyclical seasons, or in the way a child is born, grows and gives birth to begin again...Dick...Time may never end, as some people are wont to believe, but it is certainly round."

All heads swivelled from Emmett to where Dick sat, contemplating. Now he was the one fighting a compulsion to jam the fork into Emmett's person. A violent man by nature, he was only able to prevent himself by savagely biting his own hand until he was forced to drop the fork onto the table.

"But Emmett, the tangible concept of 'round' cannot be applied to an intangible concept such as time!" Dick winced as he pounded his injured fist on the table to emphasize his point.

"It is physically impossible, Emmett, to attribute any shape, be it round, triangular or even rhomboid, to something such as time. So maybe I do limit my thoughts, Emmett, but I limit them within the boundaries of what can be witnessed, felt, sensed or otherwise experienced. Besides, Emmett, you are still faced with that little matter of proving your theory of the roundness of all things by explaining to all of us just how round this fork is!" Dick almost screeched, spearing the fork at Emmett. It flew past him and hit the wall, tines first, accusingly flat.

Everyone's attention abruptly shifted back to Emmett. This debate between the two was even better than their legendary argument over pasteurized processed cheese products back at Cuyahoga Falls Community College. Back then, more than ten years ago now, Emmett had been president of the Debate Club, as he was currently the president of the Philo Club. And back then, as now, Dick had been a perpetually disgruntled member, convinced that he, a hard-line realist, could be a more effective governor.

Dick maintained that the problem in Cuyahoga Falls 'these days' was that people were too wrapped up in such vegan principles as equality for animals, socialized medicine and even, he shuddered, nuclear disarmament. Chronically paranoid, he was of the opinion that "Mo Nukes" was infinitely preferable to "No Nukes."

Emmett casually jumped off the table and began to walk in slow circles around Dick, knowing that he had a slight problem with having people stand within 5 feet of him. He clasped his hands behind his back. Dick began to twitch.

"Well, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that something else had caught your attention when I apologized for being so literal. I'll say it again, I'm sorry that your fork is not round." There was a chuckle from somewhere in the back of the restaurant.

"You know, it must be easy to be so black and white; to know for sure that time is intangible. It must be such an amazing feeling to believe in only that which you have - what was it? - witnessed, felt, sensed or otherwise experienced. But for those of us who live in greys your idea of time isn't so certain. To use your criteria, though, I can definitely say that I have experienced time. In fact, everyone here has experienced time. I know that even you yourself, Dick, have commented on how the time can pass so quickly...but if time is intangible how can you apply a verb to it? I've heard you say to 'friends' you haven't seen since college how time ravaged they look...but again, if time is intangible how can it do something? You can't be so selective. If you can attribute it with speed or ability then why can you not attribute it with a shape? Far greater minds than ours have put properties on time."

Now it was Emmett's turn to flail and pound as his temper rose. Dick Liggin was probably the only person in the world who could make him want to inflict deep, serious pain on people - a role of which Dick was aware and quite proud. But Emmett held back on physical violence, focusing instead on the personal hatred between them that had been going on for so long.

"What drags you through your day, Dick? When your radio show is over and you're walking home, what fills your sick, twisted brain? Did you join the club to satisfy some sense of inadequacy or was it just to annoy me?" There was no stopping Emmett now. He knew that Dick's reason for coming to Philo Club meetings was not to engage in serious discussion, but to feel superior to 'silly' idealists.

"You know, if I look at you any longer I'm going to have to bash your face in!" Emmett shouted. The gathered crowd gasped.

"And you know I can do it too. Just because I turn the other cheek doesn't mean I won't make an exeption about non-violent solutions. Oh yeah, Dick, I'll take you on! And don't think the people of this town have forgotten that day three years ago when I kicked your ass!" Another gasp. Yes, they did remember, and they all quietly agreed that it was a fine beating. Emmett slinked down onto a nearby chair and slicked back his hair with his hands.

"Just go," he hissed. "Just go and I'll see you at the next meeting. But if I see you anytime before that, and I don't care if it's even at Philpott's while you're out running an errand, I will hurt you. Now go."

So Dick left, somewhat embarrassed at the turn of events. As always, Emmett had managed to turn the tables to make him look wrong. As always, Dick slithered away concocting scenarios for the next meeting, where he would really get Emmett.

(With many thanks to Mopeychick for her part)

I Am Not Richard Moe

At the Johnny Rockets in Baywalk, St. Petersburg F-L-A, I sit writing the latest in a series of reports designed to promote newly designated historic buildings in Miami. While not a glamourous job, it nonetheless has made me famous. Why just the other day I was stopped on an L.A. street by Mr. Matthew Perry, who praised my technical writing skills.

"You're her, aren't you?"

"If by her you mean me, then I suppose I am."

"I absolutely love your reports! I mean, the local register nomination for Magic City Tourist Court was sublime. I spit on those who denied its designation!"

"Thanks for the support, but really I'm not surprised. Long gone are the days of Tin Can Tourists pulling into vacation cabins for the summer. Magic City's now a trailer park and preservationists just aren't going to go for that. Besides, I'm not sure if the property owners were keen on the idea either... Hey, how did you get a hold of that report anyway?"

"It's a hobby."

"Ah."

And so on. Of course, Mr. Matthew McConaughey was very nearby listening to all of this, making Mr. Matthew Perry very jealous indeed. Such is the life of a girl like me. Seriously! Jay Leno has been positively aching to get me on his show to go over the comical rendering of the Secretary's Standards for Rehabilitation I wrote for a graduate class once, but I'm holding out for Larry King.

If this report gets spotty, by the way, it's because I'm wiping my onion-greased, french fry fingers all over it. The bacon on my BLT was perfect. It would be fun to work at Johnny Rockets, I think. The ketchup smiley faces, dancing in the middle of the restaurant to "Staying Alive" - although there is always that one person, you know what I mean. However, I think I would prefer working at the one at Pentagon City Mall in Washington D.C. There they dance to Frank Sinatra singing "Chicago," and Chicago is my kind of town, after all.

But I write reports. Damn good ones. And soon I will be all power, all control. Happy because life is just like that, though the delicious sting of heartbreak has been mine as well. And isn't that a wonderful thing?